One Weatherbeaten Notebook
by JacklynK
Summary: A collected series of moments, this is the last remaining record of this chapter of Richard Riddick's life, and the only known evidence of his relationship with alias Jack B. Badd. [rating subject to change]
1. Chapter 1

My new story, hopefully giving an alternative telling of how Kyra came to be. Although I can't really guarantee how it'll end up, I don't really have a solid plan. I'm experimenting with style and sequence, so further chapters may be a little disconnected. And before anyone gets frustrated with me, no, the title has almost absolutely nothing to do with the plot. This is a series of moments, collected in my imaginary notebook as the last remaining evidence of this chapter of the notorious Riddick's life. And no, I don't own Riddick, I'm just amusing myself playing in his world.

- -

"I know you're leaving, Riddick." He didn't deny it. He didn't defend it. He just didn't say anything. She knew he had heard, but he hadn't even granted her the pretense of acknowledging her.

Riddick stood in the bare living room, watching newscasts on the deaf setting. The light hurt his eyes to read, but he was too on edge not to keep an ear on the rest of the house. It had been four days on this planet; one to find a house, two to sleep, and today he was simply having a blast not doing anything. But he knew it wouldn't last. Whether evidence proved him alive again or he left this goddamned house, this being dead thing was bound to end.

Darkness and containment can change a man, and Riddick was both preternaturally patient and host to a bad case of get-up-and-move. As most people use the word 'hungry', Riddick would use the word 'trapped'. It was a need, a lack of something unquestionably basic. In his situation, Riddick's choices were either to lay low completely, or run constantly, there was no middle ground. He knew the girl's preference. But he couldn't find a way to explain to her that he might as well _be_ dead as confine himself. In a structure fire, you don't breathe or you breathe smoke, either way you're ghost. But isn't it so much better to breathe the smoke and run? At least then you will have done something.

But this thought was so fundamental, so unquestioned in his own mind, that Riddick lacked the words to explain. He waited three breaths, enough to make it clear that he didn't answer to the kid's demands.

"Bound to end some time." Riddick almost intoned in that deep, meditative voice. Jack had nearly given up on an answer, and was almost inclined to argue with him just for being an asshole. But he had that "don't fuck with me" finality in his voice, and she knew that even if she tried to retort, she would probably be ignored. He was just impossible. But Jack would not be turned away from what she had come for.

"I'm coming with you." She said with practiced firmness.

"No." He didn't turn; he didn't act surprised or expectant. He just stood there, like she wasn't even in the room. Just… All of Jack's well-rehearsed arguments dried up in her throat. Time stretched out hopelessly between them, and she tried to stand it. It could be a test, a test of faith or determination or something, and she had to pass. Silence built and compounded upon itself into an almost palpable thing. It built until the unbearable rejection chased her down the hall and into her room.

Flighty as always, the girl retreated back into the bedroom he had given her. Feet too rushed, door shut too loud; Riddick knew she was upset. She should be, it was best for everyone if they were both clear on the fact that he was _not_ some hero who would look after the feelings of a preteen girl. He had taken them along, had gotten them to where they needed to be. And that was it. Now he had to leave and they had to stay.

He heard crying through the door. Riddick sighed and finally turned to face the place she had been. Damn kid…

Riddick came to the door, stepping heavy to announce himself, but the girl muffled her crying sounds. He had never had to deal with Jack's emotions in a place with so much space, and wasn't sure if that was a sign to go away or try harder. He stood there at the closed door, listening to the strangely hurtful sound, until he realized that there was nothing he could do or say even if he did open that door. So he left her alone.

-

Imam came home to Riddick's presence in the living room, a place that had always been too open and inviting for him to be comfortable in. He stood leaning against the back wall of the blank room, looking at his hands. He hadn't looked up at the older man's arrival, a sign Imam knew meant that there were large decisions on Riddick's mind. But he was here; maybe he had come to discuss it, whatever it was.

"Mr. Riddick?" He looked up, but in a leisurely way. He was on his own time.

"The girl's cryin'." He smirked, a gesture indecipherable. "She wants to come with me when I leave."

"She cannot!" Imam blurted. It was automatic, and although he backtracked back into his realm of politeness, Riddick had seen how he really felt. He knew the thought that had prompted such a vehement response, and while the thought itself was repulsive to him to the point of murder, Riddick couldn't blame him for having it.

"Yeah," he responded in that dark, smoky voice. "My reaction exactly." He pushed himself off of the wall, dusting his hands together in a nonchalant way. He saw Imam almost unconsciously step back; he at least had enough sense to be scared around him. "Her life, though." Riddick tossed out almost as an afterthought, without pausing on his way into the hall. He left the holy man with his back against the door, mind whirling with the sudden change of events.


	2. Chapter 2

Riddick had never been an expressive man. There had never been a need; he had never had a life too complex for simple action and blunt, one-sentence communication to handle. But this Jack situation was just beyond all that. Maybe months of live travel with the holy man had gotten to him, listening to all his sermons about responsibility and brotherhood. He knew that was exactly what the Imam had meant to do, but there's no room for a battle of wills in a one-cot skiff, and Riddick had let it slide. Maybe that was a bad move. And so, with a mix of emotions—the only one recognizable being hatred of this new situation—Riddick sat facing the console, watching the little capital "I" blink on and off.

_Jack,_

Should he address it like that at the beginning? He didn't know. He couldn't ask. He erased it again. Simple is better, he decided.

Riddick labored slowly, choosing words with difficulty, then changing them, then erasing them to start the thought again. At that moment it had become unquestionably the hardest and most fantastic thing Riddick had ever attempted. Every fight and battle was elementary, it was only muscle memory anyway. Escapes had always been something that had come naturally, just finding the right combination of cunning and brawn. But this writing thing was trying to use a part of his mind that he simply did not have any more. He as good as sold it to the Devil, traded it for the skills he had up until now been so proud of. If he had one wish at this point, he mused, it would be to be able to shank the screen to make himself understood. But that was definitely not the case here.

And that was definitely not the point, Riddick pointed out to himself. He had spent the last half hour just staring at the console and its pathetic amount of words, doing absolutely nothing but reflecting on how inexplicably hard this was. Riddick considered abandoning the effort, but he knew that would never fly. Since he had told Jack she couldn't come with him, she had been ominously quiet. If she had accepted his answer, she would have jumped at the chance to make every moment meaningful, but the sullen way she stayed up in her room just screamed that she was planning to stow away. Even if he caught her and forced her to stay, the girl would just chase after him later. That kid had will. Riddick had warned the holy man away from the situation, made it very clear that it was her choice and he would enforce her freedom to make it. Now he just had to get her to make the right choice.

-

Jack woke up that morning feeling oddly refreshed, the way you always seem to on a sunny morning after crying at night. She didn't get up, didn't even roll over, but stared unseeing at the blank, sunny wall and listened to the house. She heard Imam's sandaled footsteps on the hardwood floor, the crunch and slide of sand under his feet. He passed her room and out the front door. His dawn prayer must have roused her, although she couldn't remember hearing it. Now the house was silent. No sound of Riddick. She hadn't really expected much, but sometimes he would make himself heard, she suspected, just so she would know he was there. But not so this morning, apparently.

Jack rolled over and tossed her legs over the side of the bed. She felt bad for it, but had insisted on a bunk bed when they got their furniture. At the time she had been holding out the hope that she and Riddick would stay here, and it felt safer somehow to be up high. Nothing bad ever seemed to happen on bunk-bed height. She swung down, making effort to land quietly. It was one of Riddick's tricks, and she used to think it was some kind of magic until she made the serious effort to try. She was still way louder than he was, but that's what practice is for. She turned to go out to the kitchen.

But there was a note on the floor. For a second she just stopped, and looked at it. Standard-sized paper, folded in half, held shut at the corner by the door it had been slid under. Who would write a note? Of course, the list of possibilities was short, but neither author seemed probable, or likely to be pleasant. _Oh, god, is Riddick gone, did I miss him?_ The thought broke the barrier between her and the offending paper, and she finally reached down to take it.

She read the letter. It was a real letter, neatly typed and everything. When she was done, she read it again, slower. She walked slowly to the kitchen, paper in hand carefully open, as if the words might disappear if she lost sight of them. The print was big and the words took up most of the page, so when she placed the paper carefully on the counter she could still see it while she retrieved her breakfast. And as she sat eating it cold with the letter beside her, she read it again; already segments were committing themselves to memory.

_Jack_

_You've been through a lot, too much for a kid your age. And you've done well, kid, I'm proud. But it's today now._

_Think, Jack. I'm a convict. If you're lucky, that means running or hiding your entire life, maybe cryo, maybe just a cramped skiff for months at a time, hiding in shitbag hotels or out in the wilderness. Bad luck, it's prison. Maybe you'd be left behind to fend for yourself. Probably, you'd be in there with me. Or worse. It's happened before, mercs are not cops, they have no rules._

_There's a life here. School, a house, safety. You'd have a real chance here, a chance to be more than just alive. Think, Jack. Don't answer me, just think. This decision will direct the rest of your life. Where do you want to be?_

_I'm already gone, buying a ship and a couple other things the holy man can't or won't get. I'll be back in a couple days to get my clothes. Have yours packed, or go to school._


	3. Chapter 3

The top half of his face is hidden. Hers is shaded completely, mostly because her head is bowed. Both wear cloaks common to this planet and characteristic to a certain class of citizen, although the female's garb was obviously not built for the present cold and a flash of leg as they walk shows that there is not much beneath it to insulate her, either. Something suggests that she is his slave, rather than one he has borrowed or is transporting. She is most certainly a slave; her build much smaller, even adolescent, she walks a step behind him but close to his side. She must, there is a short and very solid-looking chain arcing generously between his hand and her neck. But that sense of generosity is tempered by the sight of that same chain threaded through the man's fist and around his knuckles.

They turn out of the street, where the few present to notice them very carefully did not look, through an ill-lit doorway and into a hotel where a pair like this could pass equally unquestioned.

"Two nights." The man ordered simply. One could say that he hadn't even glanced at the man behind the counter, but under that cloak there's no telling.

"Big spender!" The teller's smartass remark is automatic, like a carnival showman, as he turns around from whatever he was doing. "Cage room?" he asks more seriously, reaching for the proffered credit card. The man doesn't let go, and the teller is forced to progress from a simple glance to full eye contact. The man isn't staring him down, as he had expected. It seems that he is assessing the figure beside him. An unpleasant expression on his face, the man tightens his fist, curling it closer to himself ever so slightly. The girl cringes closer, reflexively increasing slack, and he smiles.

"No…" he finally answers, releasing the card. "I think we can handle ourselves." What wit hadn't dried up at the first glimpse of chain now seemed to be in the process of eating itself raw. That was some damn good training, but any man who owned and handled their own slaves like that was probably a merc having too much fun torturing an old mark's tag along to kill or sell her. And any merc with as well off as this guy must be truly vicious. It is distinctly unwise to mess around with that kind of man. He could only breathe an inward sigh of relief when the customer simply took his keys and turned away; he seemed much more interested in the events waiting in his hotel room than putting a smartass in his place.

- -

The man didn't release the chain until the door of the hotel room was shut and locked. No one bothered to turn the light on. With a cry of relief, the girl collapsed onto the bed, face down, while the man strode straight to the connecting restroom. He leaned heavily against the cool tile wall and pressed his fingertips to his eyelids; the sudden existence of climate control had made him unbearably hot. Unconsciously, both man and girl removed their cloaks in sync and threw them into a corner.

Making something resembling a loud pirate noise, the girl--too tired to actually get under the covers--flopped one arm over the edge of the bed, grabbed a handful of blanket, and simply rolled over to make herself a taco.

"It's so _cold_," she moaned, "what is it with this planet? We need to get a new set of clothes, R-"

"With what credits, Jack?" Riddick snapped, turning back into the hotel room. Maybe he had been doing too much of that lately; the dark tousled head (the only part of the girl still visible) didn't react. Hell, maybe he shouldn't have snapped at her in the first place. It wasn't her fault he couldn't provide.

"Sorry…" She muttered. And then, more clearly, " 'we eating tonight?" Something in Riddick's gut flinched as if struck.

"In the morning." He answered, trying to be a little gentler. He had been putting this off, but 'jacking ground transport was too high profile, and credits were burning faster then time. He picked his cloak up from the floor and put it back on. "Don't leave." He said, probably pointlessly. A final look before putting up his hood confirmed, it looked like she was already mostly asleep. A weary thumbs-up proved him wrong, however, and Riddick smiled. Tough kid.

- -

Riddick's goggles had been off since sunset, and his disguise didn't allow for him to replace them as he walked down the lit hallway again. Although the low hood blocked most of the light, he had to squint against the fluorescent glare from the floor and walls. He took the stairs to the third floor, and leapt from there to a neighboring roof. Finally alone again, Riddick just allowed himself to be still for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut against the residual sting, and steeled himself for the coming night. They needed credits, bad. Mercs were starting to close in, he had heard rumors of a crew already on this planet, and they were still a long ways walk from the nearest port. The girl needed protection against the winter settling in, and their disguise was getting old. But this was a bad part of town, muggings wouldn't get him anywhere. And that meant killing drug dealers.

He looked up at the sky, dark and starless with all the manmade light around him. If it were him alone, he could just keep running. All this over the death of one woman… Damn Carolyn for tying him to this girl. And damn this girl for insisting to stay with him. Nothing could convince her to stay away, not the danger, the lifestyle, not even pretending he didn't give a shit. What was it that made it so impossible to drive them away?

- -

- -

_You know, I only just now realized that the acronym for this story is OWN. Random, meaningless, but a vaguely amusing revelation. Thank you so much to my reviewers, I want you to know that you have motivated me to no doubt my fastest update on record. Although I warn that the next might not be so fast, as I'm playing with the choice of continuing this night or moving on. So as always, please review, and please be honest._

_-J_


	4. Chapter 4

She woke in the dark, shivering with cold sweat. The big bed was still cold and empty. The unfamiliar room seemed hostile in every dark, wild way. The girl woke up scared already, and as moments passed in creaks and bangs and echoes from the street, she edged from scared to frozen solid. She couldn't remember her dream, but she didn't have to. Her heart leapt to her throat as she dared to slide slowly towards the edge of the bed. There was a crash from the street, and the girl scrambled to the floor and under the bed.

Crammed in the exact center of the space she had, Jack stopped her breath and listened for danger. Silence. The room was empty. "Lights?" She almost whispered in a shivering voice. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened, she was talking through a mattress. She shut her eyes and tried to work herself up the courage. "Lights on!" She ordered with a faint edge of fear still in her voice.

Jack tried not to be too ashamed of herself when suddenly her face was illuminated, and she had to climb out from under the bed with pillow and blanket in tow. Riddick said it was okay to be scared, he said it keeps your mind awake. It's just being an irrational loser and hiding under the bed that's bad. But she was pretty sure he didn't know about that part.

Riddick was still gone. From the looks of it, he'd probably be back around dawn, sleep all day, and they'll switch over to night time. It was a part of some running equation of risk that Jack had never understood it and Riddick never explained. But 'two nights' was enough to know it was coming. She used that as her excuse, refusing to admit out loud that she was quite simply afraid to face her dreams alone again: it would be hard tomorrow night if she didn't sleep through the day.

Now that she had decided to stay awake, Jack didn't quite know what to do with herself. She paced the room a couple times, set her stance and practiced her jab-advance drill, used the shower… It was going to be _ages­ _before he came back. She tried the jab-retreat move a few times, but she was beyond clumsy on that, and there wasn't even anything she had to strike.

She felt gross again after putting her clothes back on, in more ways than one. Riddick had insisted that she wear girls' clothes, since she was registered on the HunterGratzner log as a boy. But he was also adamant that he could never pass as a father, and so slave garb it was. She wrapped her chain parallel to the forearm like he had showed her, and tried to send it out to hit the bathroom door. She didn't hold onto her end right, and the whole thing ended up crumpled like a dead snake on the floor. Riddick was trying to teach her to use her slave chain as a weapon, but somehow she just couldn't get it. Already disgusted with the exercise, she just left it there.

Bored. Hungry. Gross. Riddick had said to stay here, but he had also said that you do what you have to, and never apologize for taking care of yourself. And he had further said that he wasn't buying her new clothes.

She scooped up her cloak from the corner and turned it inside out; although the outside was a dark, shiny red color, the lining of it was black and of rougher material, and hopefully she could blend a little more that way. Opening the glass door, she stepped out onto the mock-balcony and looked down. Four stories down. Just hoping to God that the stupid cloak wouldn't get in her way, Jack climbed carefully over the railing, and then cautiously slid down on the bars to hang over the identical balcony below. Arcing her body, she dropped down to the next story. Now standing a full story below where she started, for a moment Jack just grinned, rubbed her sore arms, and relished the rush of adrenalin and sudden feeling of accomplishment. Now, two more to go.

She didn't realize until she had made it to ground level that her chain was still laying on the floor of their hotel room upstairs. For a minute she just stared up at the place she'd come from; she was so excited about her method of getting out, she had no idea how she would get back up there. She decided it didn't matter right now; she'd burn that bridge when she came to it. She recalled seeing a string of shops only a half-hour back, and Jack desperately needed out of these stupid, flimsy clothes.

- -

- -

You can not add to the being of a man without his permission, and Riddick had grown too wary of his fellow man long ago. He would be at the mercy of no one, and the consequences of that basic aloneness he considered well worth it. Most days.

You can not add, but to take requires no consent, and Riddick had plenty of experience with that. Taking of family, home, freedom were not enough. It was as if the experiences of his life had taken of him. Richard Riddick was not a man whose character was molded so much as carved. There had never been a guiding hand for him, no forgiven mistakes, and every new punishment had broken and burned and cut away from his soul. He was now like one of those great capitol buildings, looming forgotten after the system it represented had been overthrown, burned and blown to the fortified core, but inside that core… no one knows. If there ever was an entrance, it had been destroyed. But the few children bold enough to play there would swear that they heard something from inside, if anyone would listen to them.

But at this point Riddick didn't feel like a capitol building, or any other wordy metaphor that could be attached to him. Quite frankly, he was physically and emotionally exhausted. He didn't even bother to sneak back into the hotel; he just didn't want to have to think that hard, especially while squinting painfully against the coming dawn and a night full of streetlights. He just kicked down the service door.

It felt strange to use a key to get through a door, like the feeling you get when you revisit a secret memory. When he had locked the door again behind him, Riddick noticed that in the corner, where the girl's cloak was when he had left, was now also a small mesh shirt, tank top, and pair of shorts. He was too tired to deal with it, and there was no harm done this time, so Riddick just made a note to talk to her about the incredible stupidity of sleeping without clothes. He sat on the side of the bed and let his slow, mindless fingers unlace his boots. When he finally lay between the sheets, body too thankful for the mattress to complain about a lack of blanket, the figure he thought was asleep moaned.

"You smell gross, Riddick, where have you been?" She said, throwing him his half of the blanket. It fell over his face, and before he had managed to move it, he felt her burrow under her half, and under the sheet.

"Get dressed and go to sleep." Was all he responded, more than a little disturbed at the idea of the kid being there mostly naked, without anything between them. But he knew if she refused, he probably wouldn't have the energy to enforce it. It took enough energy just to speak.

"I am dressed." She said, sleepy but defiant. Riddick's eyes were blissfully closed under his goggles, but he felt her roll over to face him and heard her inhale softly. "Oh, Riddick, what happened?" His face was smeared with dried blood that he had wiped at but hadn't cleaned off.

He cracked an eye at her. Her arm was outside the blanket, and sure enough, she had on something dark and long-sleeved. "What are you wearing?" He demanded, so low it was almost a wordless rumble.

The girl suddenly had that scared, I-want-to-please-you look. "Well, it's cold out there, and you said I should take care of myself, so I thought-"

She wasn't seriously seeking his blessing for it _now_. "Go to sleep." He growled, more tired and angry that she had snuck out to really care why she had done it. The girl finally gave up and situated herself to sleep.

-

She woke up again midday, but the shakes faded quickly between the sunlight and the bulk of Riddick in the bed with her. For a few minutes Jack just sat up with her head in her hands. She hadn't really been asleep when Riddick had come in, but her boredom had gotten so great that she was down to lying in bed, hoping that somehow exhaustion would overtake fear and she'd get some rest. Riddick almost never noticed; she knew his senses were sharp enough, but she was pretty sure he did his best to ignore her when he came in at night.

She got up to use the restroom. The counter was empty. No credits, no food left for her. She had eaten a couple bars of candy while she was out—it was the only food there in the clothing shop, and she was too scared to try to break into a second building—but she had trusted that there would be a meal in the morning like he said, and hadn't really worried about it. Now she'd have to wait until he woke up. He probably forgot, she told herself. He was so tired, and from the looks of him there had been trouble.

She watched him sleep a moment, but was distracted by the sheer nastiness of him. If Riddick's face looked like that, she could only imagine the rest of him. Jack wrinkled her nose at the thought of all that gross being in the bed. She had no idea what could have happened last night, but it must have been bad to make him so exhausted that he just fell into bed in that state. He was usually so obsessive about stuff like that, keeping your bed clean and your wounds taken care of. And she couldn't pretend it wasn't her fault. He would have never stopped for the night if not for her; he would have probably been at the port by now. And what a considerate way to repay him, running out like that and risking getting nicked on something so stupid as being cold and not wanting to wait.

She wanted to make it up to him somehow, even just a little. She was so selfish, it felt like she never helped out. Jack ran a clean washcloth under the warm water, and very carefully brought it to wipe the blood from his jaw, where it looked like he had been hit with brass knuckles.

In a flash, she was staggering backward without breath. She saw a glint of steel at the end of a huge dark arm, and the fine, bright spray of blood fanning out of her body. The hellish vision of shock even noted the thin line of blood that had been carried away by the blade, and how at the point a single drop was flung away like something stupid and unwanted. She fell against the wall, wide-eyed. Riddick had spun to his other shoulder to face her, clawlike shiv threateningly bared like an extension of his body. If there was any human emotion on his face at all, it was hidden behind the mask of those welding goggles.

When Riddick's mind had caught up with his body, the damage had already been done. He sat up from his instinctive defensive position; the blood on the blade soaked into the sheet when it was pressed down under his shifting weight.

"Jack." The way he said it, it was almost a question, as if asking the girl what had just happened. He saw the pain had sunk in, how her body was curled protectively around the hurt, eyes unfocused, her shivering breath and the small cough punctuated by a barely audible whimper. She shook with the effort of restraining tears.

Riddick had no knowledge of how to comfort, was in fact physically repulsed by what he had done. But wounds to the torso are not to be trifled with. The way she was positioned, he couldn't see the cut itself, but her shirt was already darkened with blood. He lifted her by the arms to the bed where he could deal with it, grimacing at the girl's cry of pain. When he had her laid out, he saw why.

He had slashed her across the chest. The cut wasn't deep, but it was big. Riddick grabbed a damp towel from the floor and pressed it to the wound. If she had been a little taller, if she had been standing close enough to strangle as his body had assumed… she would have been gutted. He could only imagine waking up to his hand hot with fluid, the kid bleeding to death on the floor. He picked up the courtesy phone and dialed the front desk.

"Room 407. I need a bottle of vodka." Riddick ordered bluntly into the phone. Jack didn't understand what he was doing, but she heard the tones of the teller's response, something along the line of 'What kind of place do you think this is'. "_Now." _He snarled, and hung up.

He put both hands on the towel again, squeezing his eyes shut against her gasp of pain as he applied more pressure. "What happened?" He said. Under such stress, the line between question and statement was getting hazy.

"I just wanted to help." Her voice was fairly strong, at least, a sign the pain wasn't too bad. She even laughed weakly. "I know how you hate blood in bed."

"I told you never to wake me." With everything else going on, he hadn't even registered the stripe of cold and clean across his face. She really was just trying to clean his wounds. She broke eye contact and turned her head to the side; answer enough. She knew, but hadn't realized the seriousness of it. He never had told her why she shouldn't, just told her not to and left it at that. He hadn't told her, but she was ashamed for not knowing anyway. There was a knock on the door, and he let it serve as the distraction they both needed.

He threw the blanket over her body, covering her face like she was dead, before opening the door. No one really cares how a man treats his slave, but there is an unspoken rule of no witnesses, no problem. No one is willing to risk their neck on a lie detector for some slave owner. The door shut angrily. When Riddick came back and the girl uncovered herself again, she saw him take a quick swig of the bottle before setting it down. If it was possible, she started looking even more nervous.

Riddick dug into his pockets. Contrary to popular belief, Riddick's ever-present cargos have nothing to do with style. When all you've got is the clothes on your back, pockets are a valuable asset. He came out with Jack's sewing kit, fished in another and got a small baggie of pills, no doubt stolen that night. All efficiency and practicality, he reached over her body and retrieved the shiv again, cutting one of the pills carefully in half. Her body was so small, and he had no idea how strong this stuff was.

- -

When it was over, Riddick sat with elbows on knees on her side of the bed. His day's sleep was shot, and not only because of the spilt blood that was currently soaking in and drying in the bed. Something roiled inside him, so much of it he feared it would escape, something he couldn't describe. He knew the source, it was the girl, lying unconscious in the place that had been his. But what is it? And what to do about it?

- -

Jack woke, and there were no shakes. She found herself cloak-free, riding piggyback down a street under the late afternoon rainclouds. The warmth conserved where she was pressed against his back felt wonderful in contrast to the cold air. She felt the weight of her chain wrapped around her waist under her shirt. _Her_ shirt, the one she had gotten herself with her mock army cargos.

"Hi." She said, still a little sleepy and stupid. "Who are you?"

"Your father." Riddick growled, low enough so no one else could hear. He was wearing a light blue button-up shirt, and a darker hat pulled down low. She tried not to laugh, she knew it would hurt, but Jack just couldn't help herself. He looked like a tourist.

-

-

_Yay, I did it! You have no idea how exciting this is for me, I have never written anything worthwhile this quickly, especially over such a long interval. I have such a short attention span for stories, and such a slow writing process. Anyway, reviews invited of course, both bad and good._

_Kinda random question: Does anyone know the name of that trick that they always show in movies, where the hero 'jumps' straight from lying on their back to standing on their feet? Please review or PM me if you know, it's driving me insane. _


	5. Chapter 5

"Josie." Riddick said deliberately, making eye contact with the girl at his side. She looked up with the anticipated irked smile. Her cover name today was going to be Josie?

"Yes, _dad_?" She responded, trying to get an equal rise out of him. But then she saw his hand; he was holding out a credit card. She took it, and when she looked up at him again, the expression was completely changed.

When his hand was empty, he used it to point over her shoulder. "Go get lunch."

She grinned, even though it stung a little to be pointed away somewhere like a dog. "How much can I spend?" Riddick relished the joy in Jack's voice as much as being able to answer:

"All of it."

Jack searched excitedly through the menu. Riddick had no doubt just drawn a little off of their store of credits to get rid of her, but that didn't change the fact that she had a whole twenty credits to her name and had every intention of spending it. It was a real greasy spoon place; nothing seemed to be more than seven or eight credits, so Jack settled for ordering an adult-sized meal and promising herself dessert. She sat with her back to the big picture window, the front door at the corner of her eye and the back in full view. She was too engrossed in the thrill of having the cash to burn a hole in her pocket to really notice any fellow patrons, though, or anything their eyes might be doing.

Riddick came in a while later. She had ordered already, but the food hadn't come yet. He sat beside her on the booth; he knew that she had tried to pick a strategic spot considering the doors, but apparently she didn't think of the fact that she had set him up to sit facing the open street. Not her fault. She only looked confused for a minute, but when he faced her pointedly, nodding her slightly towards where he wanted her to be, she got the picture. "Sorry" Jack muttered as she switched spots to face the street, but nothing could wipe the grin from her face.

She really tried to let Riddick have his silence for awhile, he wasn't one for conversation when he was tired. But she couldn't help it.

"So we have credits now?" Jack asked with her mouth happily full. Riddick grunted, still looking at the laminated menu-placemat. She understood him. "Where'd you get it?" She continued, trying to make conversation. Again Riddick didn't give eye contact, which, sunglasses or not, Jack pretty much lived for. He brushed his thumb down his own jawline, roughly tracing the broken skin that had tempted her attentions earlier. Immediately Jack blanched and stooped her head to study her food.

Riddick felt bad for reminding her of the incident earlier, and it occurred to him to wonder if she had interpreted that motion as a warning, a threat. It was true that he didn't want her to know exactly what he had done, recently or in the past. But in a way he didn't quite understand, he didn't want her to shut up. And she had.

Jack hadn't really thought hard about the events of that morning (Morning? Night? With their odd schedule, she was never sure what to call it.), but when she thought back, besides that on his face, and a glimpse of a small defense cut on his forearm, there wasn't another scratch on him. And that meant all that blood on him… must have been from someone else. She decided she really didn't want to know where the money had come from. God, the things he must go through for her; she knew he wouldn't need half as much if he wasn't dragging her around. But this morning he had carried her longer than he really needed to, and with her head leaned against his cheek, Jack even thought she had caught him smiling once. So maybe it was okay. Just maybe.

- -

Outside, the girl lit up all over again. It just kept getting better, and Riddick thought he almost saw her actually jump up when she saw it. "We got a GT after all?!" Dark glasses and his hat pulled down low, Jack couldn't see the relief and residual guilt in Riddick's eyes, only the mild smile. But it was more than he usually gave her, and it was enough of an answer to her.

On the passenger seat, he had left her a new shirt, to replace the one that was now roughly sewn up and stained dark with guilt, and an assortment of candy that he had literally grabbed at random, not knowing anything about such things. Even though she was more than thrilled, Riddick wondered if Jack would be any different if she wasn't so often deprived of such things. If she had a favorite candy, he had no idea, she was only happy to have any at all, and ditto with the clothes and other things. The credits he had given her for lunch had ended up paying for both of them, but she hadn't batted an eye, had somehow actually been pleased with the situation. He didn't know how, or why.

Riddick watched from the corner of his eye while they traveled, what a little barbarian Jack had become. She dismembered teddy bears, splicing their bodies sometimes and smiling before devouring them. She tore the throats out of Pez dispensers with her teeth. He wondered vaguely if it was a sign of something deeper, or just something people did. He didn't know. Are all kids like that?

What Jack had been so pleased about wasn't just that they had actually gotten ground transport, but that it looked like Riddick had gotten it with _keys_. When the kid was asleep on his back, Riddick was still wary of the effectiveness of their new cover. But he came to realize that not only did it work, but it felt good. It was kinda nice, not having anyone stare or pointedly not-look or skirt around him at a safe distance. People saw him, saw her, an actually smiled. It even occurred to him (why not before he had no idea) that with this harmless-looking cover, he may not even have to steal ground transport. Real fathers just go to rental services.

- -

- -

_You know the drill, y'all,_ please _review. Even to flame me, even just to say "you spelled this word wrong". I thrive on reviews._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: italics indicates flashback_

- -

It is something new, and he doesn't know what it is. Riddick is no stranger to following urges without names, but this one is mixed and tangled up in too many words, often overshadowed by the immediate and understood. It only seems to surface in the quiet moments, although he was sometimes aware of it in other times, like water flowing underground. On some occasions this thing had surged and he was momentarily uprooted, kept in control by sheer force of will and a steady eye on the solid and real.

He had never tried to name this thing; names trivialize, and are meant for sharing. Riddick had no intention of allowing either to happen. A word would make this thing solid, and like ice he feared the added pressure would rupture his already shaky system of containment. The word Hate is what turns molten fire into a ragged shiv; Fear a paralyzing force into a hindrance.

He had allowed the kid to come with him because he knew that otherwise she would follow him on her own, and he knew too well what happened to kids trying to make it alone. He had assumed that before long she would get over her attachment as she got over the events that had clouded her judgment in the first place. If nothing else, he had thought that the further punishment of his minimalistic life, or at the very least his treatment of her, would drive her off.

But the kid just, accepted things. Riddick never realized that giving her the free choice had instilled in her a sense of moral responsibility to deal with what she had known would be coming. He never realized that he hadn't offered her the option of turning back.

Sometimes Riddick found himself furious at her, hurting her for no reason other than it made him feel better. Sometimes he felt guilty and inflicted that anger at himself. Sometimes he looked back to discover that he had done something violent just to prove he's still young and alive. Every day he found himself hiding her, protecting her, and he didn't know why.

"_Tell 'em Riddick's dead." She looks up at him, not quite comprehending. _She was always a little blunt, even then. No finesse, no depth of observation._ "He died somewhere on that planet." He meets her eyes, using the expression and vulnerability of his own to assure her. It wasn't the way he usually looked at people, like he was angry enough or bored enough to stare someone away. _And maybe that was it; maybe that was when he had started to accept her. It was certainly the first time in a long time that he had smiled for a reason other than irony or manipulative, lying charm.

Riddick was half-asleep, allowing the cryochemicals to maintain his body and distort time. They got off the planet on a flightplan to Pithor, and now he needed to think of someplace to actually go. The only problem is, where?

They were getting too predictable. Hopping planet to planet, keeping to the low-class places and squatting in industrial zones or abandoned warehouses before leaving again by a different port. This time they hadn't even found a place to live before he started hearing rumors of himself. They had just kept going, traveling on to leave again, and it was wearing on them both.

They could go someplace nicer, actually settle awhile, find Jack a school. It would throw off the dogs off their scent, but not for long. Places like that have no crime index, and he would stick out like a sore thumb. And being given only half a chance like that would just hurt the girl.

They could turn feral, find someplace entirely outside human contact. What would that do to her? She wouldn't survive tundra, and he couldn't stand a jungle or wetland. That left a desert climate. Riddick knew that she hadn't yet gotten over T2, and there would be no escaping the memories there. They would be able to stay still awhile, but whether or not that was a good thing was a whole other question.

Maybe they just weren't going far enough out. Running so often, they were almost always strapped for cash, and couldn't go much farther than the nearest logical planet. But he had gotten an unexpected windfall that last night on land; they actually had options this time.

_They_ had options, Riddick reminded himself, he was speaking for her. Maybe it was time to wake her, give the kid a choice. Anything would be better than days more of this circular thought, wasting fuel and cutting their radius of possibility.

-

Jack brushed a hand through her hair; it was even longer now. While she was asleep, it had passed from a tousled boy-cut to just a curly mess. "Hey, was' going on? 'We still in space?" Jack smiled at the sight of the window, seeing it was true. Riddick handed her a cup of coffee. It was strong, but with half cream and lots of sugar, he figured it would be okay. He watched the kid drink it with a shadow of a smile on his face: she cupped it in both small hands, smiling blankly even as she drank.

Jack woke from cryo much faster than most, and she was alert before more than a few sips of coffee, as if nothing had happened. She knew to finish it, though; it was that good breakfast-coffee, and had all the vitamins she needed. Incomplete cryosleep can really knock down the immune system.

"So what's up?" Jack asked carefully, trying not to let on that she had anticipated him waking her up like this. He had told her once about how cryo doesn't work on him, and she hid the grin that wanted to rise at the thought that maybe he missed her when she was asleep. "Where are we going?" She tried again when Riddick didn't answer.

Riddick shrugged, and looked at her. When his eyes were uncovered, Jack was always struck by the amount of expression he was actually capable of. The way he looked at her, like he was offering the chance to try to fill the blank he had left, finally did make her grin.

"What kind of choices do we have?" That joy was in her voice again, but some hesitance, too. She never seemed to consider anything hers; she always seemed to offer it back to him, or give him a share. Whether it was fear of responsibility or a kind of unending gratitude, he didn't know. But she asked, so Riddick laid it down to her.

-

_I know this is short, but I think school is trying to kill me. The next chapter may take awhile, between school and change of scenery, and me just being a slow writer. So don't please don't get frustrated with me, guys, and as always, please review._


	7. Chapter 7

Jack breathed deeply as the outer door of their little ship opened. She exhaled with a smile. The sudden oxygen saturation felt amazing. "Good air," she commented as she and Riddick stepped out into the sunlight. "Fresh planet?" After so long in dark, twisted silence, the sound of the kid's voice alone made Riddick smile a little.

Riddick shrugged. "It's all filtered. The water here is basic." Compared to Riddick's usual responses this was almost becoming a speech, and Jack looked up at him to drink it in as they walked between ships to the port office. "Most of the land's acid. That's where we'll be, the Acid Desert. People huddle in their cities. We'll have room to breathe." It was dark, but Riddick navigated them effortlessly between the looming ships, lightly steering the girl with one hand on her upper back.

"Not too creative with their region naming, huh?" Riddick let out a single-breathed sarcastic laugh. Jack loved space travel. Riddick was always so relaxed on a new planet, before he had time to start worrying about getting caught. And now that they weren't playing that sick master-servant act, he actually expressed it. As they neared the office building, Riddick moved his hand to lay heavy on Jack's shoulder.

"Now keep quiet, Leslie, or you won't get that new music byte." He said deliberately; letting her know the play before they went inside. She looked up at him as he broke contact, and a smile turned into a grin as she saw him slip on his blue dad-hat again.

- -

It didn't take long to find the rough edges of town. Riddick gave Jack the dad-hat to hide her hair and make her a boy again, and they walked down the sidewalk ten paces apart, as if they didn't know each other. Around here, an innocent father and child would stick out more than a separate criminal and runaway. Riddick had coached her carefully, but he still didn't like the situation of having her so far away. Anyone paying close enough attention would think that he was planning a kidnapping, by the way he was watching the kid. Nobody would have thought that that was exactly what the bulging convict was guarding against.

The girl stopped at the corner of an alley to check a non-existent watch, and when Riddick caught up, he steered them into it.

"What is it?" Riddick asked once they were far enough into the shadows. Now he felt vaguely shamed; he had been so intent on Jack and the people around her, he wasn't even paying attention to the buildings. It looked like Jack noticed that, too, by the connotation of the question. Rather than disillusionment, though, she just seemed extra jazzed that she got to tell him something he didn't already know.

"I spotted a furrier's that's closed down for the weekend." Immediately Riddick shook his head.

"Small, open business; they'll have security."

"Yeah, but I figured we could raid it for bedding, and crash at the warehouse next door with the 'Foreclosed' sign on it." Jack elaborated, shrugging the idea off as stupid even as she said it. It felt stupid to be preparing to sleep so soon after cryo, but all stores were closed down for the night, and they needed supplies first, before they could disappear.

Riddick's face smiled against his will: she really was getting better at this sort of thing. He reached into a pocket and slapped Jack's lock pick set into her hand. "Keep it in _you_r pocket now." He told her, both approving of her plan and finally officially condoning her self-stolen clothes. The girl flashed him a brilliant grin from under the shade of his hat, and Riddick roughly turned her by her shoulders and gave her a moderate push to say 'now get going', before she could see that his face was suddenly hot with blood.

- -

- -

"Riddick?" Jack piped up from above him. Riddick opened his bare eyes to find the girl's head visible over the side of her ledge like a bunk bed. He had deposited her to sleep on a concrete shelf about chest-height, made by a space between struts at the corner of the building, and he lay underneath on the warehouse floor. Needless to say, she was not sleeping. When she poked her head over and saw him again, the kid somehow felt the need to interrupt herself. "You know, we really could put the furs together. You're too big to fold yours around you, that can't be comfortable." Like he needed reminding.

"What do you want, Jack?" Riddick's voice was low, but not in his chest. He was trying to restrain himself from anger.

"What happened that night?" She asked in that too young, I-don't-want-to-piss-you-off voice.

"What?" Riddick said, but he thought he knew.

"On that last planet, the night you hurt me." Why did people always want to talk events to death? Why can't they just forget about it and move on? Riddick was not in the mood for this. "Where did we get all that money?" She wasn't going to let it go; he had to give her some kind of answer. Riddick used to be darkly amused at this kid's eagerness to know about him, but the longer the thought of her in prison for it stayed in his head, the less inclined he was to feed her curiosity. Now forced to give an answer, Riddick looked at the wall, then at the ceiling for help. It wasn't working; she was still looking at him.

"Human hunting." Riddick answered at a window across the room. He didn't want to see her reaction; he wasn't sure if eagerness or disappointment would be worse. "But no one had enough bread to be worth it. Did some research. Found a jackpot with a hit out on 'im."

"Your jaw?" The girl pressed, when he didn't go on.

Riddick shrugged, although this was invisible under the thick, heavy pelt he was using as a blanket. "Jackpots have bodyguards. This one had a posse. But we got what they had, and collected for the service." Funny, how that amount of money always seemed like so much at first. But it spent fast. Just look at them now; surviving on theft again, sleeping in this filthy, rundown shithole. _Just until the ship sells, _Riddick assured himself, _then no more of this. _

Riddick had forgotten that the girl was still watching. She saw Riddick's hard mask melt to a look of worry, and she jumped down to him with her pelt in tow. Riddick gave her an angry look, he had had to lift her up to that shelf, and did not want to get up to do it again. But Jack pushed past his anger, literally. Down on her knees beside him, she pushed his shoulder with both hands, willing him to roll off of the warm spot his body heat had cultivated on the floor. She scooted her fur underneath him, and when he returned to lying on his back, she fit herself between the two pelts with him. Riddick had made a point of never sharing anything smaller than a king-sized bed, and they were practically on top of each other. But he let her move him, and didn't send her back up to her shelf. He didn't really know why. Riddick was tired of thinking about it.

-

_I know this is really short, but I'm coming to the point in my story where the whole thing is basically written, but it's in a thousand little fragments that have to be pasted together. So please let me know if I start getting too fragmented and need to go back or slow down. And as always, please review, and be honest._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: 315 Kelvin 110 Fahrenheit 43 Celsius _

- -

Riddick stepped out into the slanted sunlight, painfully straightening his back after having to stoop under low outcropping of rock. Contrary to his demeanor and public rumor, Riddick wasn't a monstrously huge guy, but the space was still too small. But while the word 'cave' was far too generous, it was probably the best they would get that night. Riddick knew that he was far too tired to guard all through the coming night, and his mind managed to get about halfway through considering the likelihood of predators in their sleep, when his eyes found the girl.

She was sitting with her back to him, just barely over the ridge of the next dune. He had told her not to wander… But, watching the girl's silhouette as he approached behind her, he restrained himself from correcting her again.

Riddick stopped just a step behind her left shoulder, and Jack sort of quarter-turned her head to acknowledge him. She was watching the day end. After a long moment, Riddick moved to sit beside her on the sand, big boots set in front of him and arms resting on his knees. He was sure there must be color in the sky, but all Riddick could see through his filtered eyes were the blue and purple that he always saw, although the madness of light was tempered by his goggles. In accustomed silence, Riddick watched with her.

The approach of night is a slow affair, and after a time Riddick's attention drifted to the girl. His head hadn't moved and his goggles were on, but she noticed anyway.

"What is it?" She asked quietly, without looking away. Whether she was lost to memories of their last desert sunset or just exhausted, Riddick didn't know. But Jack was unusually mild.

Riddick considered answering, then considered lying. But something in him, a different part of him to each proposition, wouldn't have it. So he didn't answer. Jack sighed to herself, but she couldn't say she was surprised by his silence.

"It's like it's only pretty at the beginning and end…" Jack mused out of the blue, filling the silence herself. Riddick's eyes cut to her again, and by an infinitesimal move of his head acknowledged that she was speaking. But by no means did Riddick betray that he was all ears. Something was being said here, something that felt too deep to be said directly. Jack gestured her chin at the skyline, and Riddick turned his attention back to it as well. "But the _day_ is never called that."

There was a long silence. Jack seemed to be considering and weighing her words on the spot, but when she spoke again her words were slow but deliberate.

"The beginning is celebrated, and the end is a ceremony, but what about everything else? What's there to celebrate if everything after it is just… has to be endured?" Riddick turned his head to her; the kid seemed to have given up on the sunset and had her eyes focused on the barren sand in front of her. The kid raised her head to meet his eyes, or at least try to. With the goggles between them, as always the eyes searched his face, groping for a focal point somewhere besides the impersonal plastic. Riddick could see that her face now almost casually sported a rising bruise on the corner of her mouth, and a hint of his humor must have reached his face. Jack interpreted it as offered comfort and leaned against him in a tired, one-armed hug. Riddick returned the gesture, unsure really of what else to do with it. By this time he supposed he should have gotten used to it, but Riddick had never really warmed to the idea of non-violent physical contact. By now he was too used to his cold ways, it would likely forever feel to him both useless and dangerous.

"I'm sorry…" She muttered half into his chest. Riddick didn't know how to answer, or even exactly what the girl was referring to. The sun sank slowly, and the temperature followed. Riddick wasn't sure when it was that the kid fell asleep against him, sitting up on the open sand.

Riddick carried her in his arms, back to their rough but warm camp for the night.

- -

The trek to where they ended that day was far harder than it had to be. Riddick had done research on the planet, and had passed on some of the information to the girl, but he made one miscalculation in planning their trip out to the desert. They hit city limits late morning. They felt it.

The line where climate control ended was sharp, within ten steps man and child knew that they were outside of civilization. Suddenly the heat fell down on them like a heavy wool blanket. And it built. The sun rose ever so slowly, screamingly white in the sky, glaring down at them and back up at itself, reflected in the sand. Under clothing, the body felt as if it were being viciously steamed, but every uncovered inch was just as mercilessly fried directly by the sun. By the time they passed 315 Kelvin what breeze the pair caught as they trudged the deep, shifting sand between dunes, rather than offering even its usual paltry relief, only kicked up more acid sand and pushed the dry, hot air at them. Jack, without the benefit of goggles, felt her eyes were baking inside her skull.

Jack knew she shouldn't be tired this early. It couldn't have even been an hour yet. She knew she was spoiled, she was so used to traveling light that the muscles of her back were already seizing up in protest to the weight she had to carry. The packs they carried were roughly fashioned from the two pelts they had stolen, and it dug uncomfortably into the flesh of her shoulders and back. But Jack didn't complain, and she held on to that. She didn't complain.

Riddick still hadn't broken the seal on their first bottle of water, so Jack didn't drink either. She didn't know how he had the self-control, but she didn't want to risk his temper or her energy level to ask. Better to concentrate her efforts on keeping up and study him silently. To be sure, that was sometimes how she got the most out of him.

Jack stumbled on nothing, and suddenly realized that as her mind drifted, she had fallen behind. She sped a couple of steps to get back to her accustomed place. She should not be this tired, her mind kept insisting. She tried not to think about it. Jack focused her eyes on the back of Riddick's head, hooded against the glare of the sun, and the distant mountain range beyond. Her eyes didn't want to do that. They kept unfocusing as her thoughts drifted back inside herself, and again her feet stumbled.

Jack licked her lips. She didn't complain. She refused to complain. Her feet failed a third time, and before making the effort to make up the lost space, Jack reached up and firmly bit the meat of her hand between the thumb and forefinger. For a minute that worked, but then it was just something else that hurt. Riddick was going to get mad at her if she didn't keep up…

-

…Jack woke slowly, vaguely aware that she had a pretty stupid smile on her face. She still hurt, but at least it was a new day and— The sun glared into her uncovered eyes. Jack didn't understand, she— She could feel the hot sand under her back, and the side of her face hurt something fierce. Her head was propped on Riddick's lap. When she first opened her eyes his body had been twisted away, digging in his dropped pack, and as he turned back to find her awake again, it finally sunk in what had happened. She had passed out. Like any stupid, weak kid, she had fainted.

Jack turned her head away before she had to look Riddick in the face. Of course, doing that brought into view her pack in the sand and the deep, short drag marks between her and it. She must have pitched forward and hit her face on Riddick's boot or something, there was nothing else hard around. Tears threatened, and Jack squeezed her eyes shut against them; being so tired and disoriented, it was a harder battle than most.

Her eyes were closed, so Jack startled when Riddick pressed a wet scrap of cloth against her mouth. Her eyes opened to find Riddick looming between her and the sun, and as far as she could tell, he didn't look like he was angry. Of course that didn't mean much, he didn't often look like he ever felt anything at all. Jack lifted her hands at the ends of heavy, clumsy arms to hold the rag herself and suck at the moisture. The action felt so weak, but she didn't think she was capable of much more.

"What happened?" With his natural tonal quality, the slightest chiding note made Riddick sound murderous. Breaking the silence finally did it: a single pair of tears ran down Jack's face. With Riddick the question was almost always rhetorical. It was one of his ways of gaining control of a situation. But Jack moved the rag from her face long enough to answer.

"I'm sorry…" She managed through her dry and emotion-choked throat. Riddick took the opportunity to extract the fabric from her hand and carefully wet it again. He didn't want to shock her body with too much water too fast. This wasn't the first time the kid had worked herself to collapse trying to impress him. She probably saw that he hadn't stopped for water yet and wanted to match him.

"I'd have stopped, Jack." After wetting it, on impulse Riddick tore the rag in half again. He gave her back one scrap of fabric, and she took it placidly. That shirt Jack stole sure had a short lifespan, between getting slashed and now cut up for scraps. Almost absently Riddick wiped the child's dirty, burned face with the other half of rag.

Jack nodded, more blind comprehension than agreement, but the tears had already stopped. That was a good sign. He did not want to deal with the kid's crying out here in this infernal heat. There was no use stopping here long-term; they had packed bare minimum and had no means for shelter, and without that they would only fry out on this sand. The only option was to keep going and find shelter in the mountains. But now they would have to go even slower than Riddick now understood they should have been going in the first place. The kid would be on the edge of consciousness until they could get some real rest.

God damn kid.

- -

- -

_Okay this was shorter and way later than it was intended to be, but I swear there is a good reason I've taken so long. Being the genius I am, all of my work is kept solely on a flash drive that lives in my purse. Now it seems to have disappeared. So I am in the process of trying to dig up the rough drafts and rewrite those thousand fragments that I had managed to collect. But maybe it's a blessing in disguise, really: the other reason this story is getting so slow is that my mind has a thousand different directions this story could go, and I seem to be having trouble picking just one. Rewriting _is_ giving me some better direction._

_Anyway, as always please review! Good, bad, or indifferent, I'd love to hear it._

_-J_


	9. Chapter 9

Riddick woke, automatically taking stock as his eyes first opened. The first thing they found, though, was the untempered light of morning, and he squinted painfully as he replaced the welding goggles over his eyes. He and the girl had spent the night on the sand, camped under a low outcropping of rock. The rising sun had already dispelled the night's freezing temperature, and the top pelt had been pushed down to uncover the pair to the waist.

Riddick extracted himself from their makeshift bed, and although he disliked leaving the kid alone as she slept, walked out of sight of her for a moment. When he came back, rather than have to dig through their pile of supplies on his knees, he scooped them towards him, out into the open, and then found himself some breakfast. It was only after he had settled into his Spartan meal of prepackaged jerky and was reaching for a bottle of water that Riddick realized the action had hurt him. He inspected his forearm idly before he drank. It looked no different. His skin was red, but no worse than the rest of him. Yet he registered an increased dryness and tightness that said 'burn'. Interesting.

Finally, he went to wake the kid. This day would probably be equally harsh, but to put it off further would only make it worse. They had made it to the mountains, and now they needed to find a real shelter. The sooner they could find a place to settle the better; every night spent at camp only worsened the desert's effects.

Riddick nudged her shoulder, but the kid only groaned and rolled to her back. Between her natural tendencies and his influence, Jack was ordinarily a light sleeper and fast to wake. But Riddick had pushed her far past her usual limits to get here and it didn't look like the wear on her was enough for just one fitful night's sleep to cure. No help for it. It was time to go. Riddick took the top pelt away from the girl to spread it in front of himself and start packing up, and finally she sat up, running a hand blearily through her hair.

"Uuh…" Riddick glanced at the kid again, a gesture that, if she had caught it, would have been enough to hurry the girl along. But Jack remained oblivious, both hands now over her face. She really was out of it. Riddick hadn't thought that the kid's mop of hair could be any messier, but apparently he was wrong; just short enough to avoid being in her eyes and on the back of her neck, it had gone from a somehow charming mess of loose curls to the sandy, frizzed-out annoyance of today. Thus, behold the charms of staying clean-shaven. Riddick smiled to himself and turned back to his task.

"You're awfully cheerful." The kid accused jokingly as she dragged the second pelt with her to join him on the open sand. " 'Any breakfast in there?" Without looking up at her, Riddick handed the girl an pack of instant noodles. There were probably no nutrients in it at all, but they _were _cheap, and the kid got a huge kick out of 'em. He figured it might brighten her morning. He wasn't wrong. A childish smile immediately surfaced as the kid opened the cover and the smell of fake but hot chicken flavoring wafted from the package.

By the time the girl was through with her breakfast, Riddick had finished reassembling their bedding back into packs, and without acknowledgement by word or gesture, left the smaller at the kid's feet as he walked back towards the rock face, looking for a feasible way up.

- -

The majority of the planet was deeply acidic, and human imposition on the land had stripped nearly all water from the surface. The Mondaiji Mountains, where Riddick and Jack settled, had once been a chain of islands, and the water's erosion had cut caves out of the sides of the mountains. It was in one of these that the pair settled. It took two days, but finally they found a place to Riddick's standards, a place both large enough to live in and far enough from level sand to avoid being found.

"This is good." Riddick appraised. "We'll stay here."

"For the night?"

"At least."

Jack gave the cave a serious look herself. It was drifting towards dark but she could still see the cobwebs draped from the ceiling and something green growing on the walls. There was a livable amount of floorspace—she couldn't even see to the back—but the ceiling went from something like five meters on one side to a crawlspace on the other, and only the front half of the floor was stone. It sloped further down as you went in, and the back had filled with sand. He wanted to stay here?

Jack knew she was tired and feeling bitchy, and that Riddick was no better and likely to bite her head off, so she decided just to be thankful for a place to sleep. They had been hiking and bouldering through the mountains the past two days, and it was her fault; it would have taken Riddick alone half that time. So she held herself back from complaining, from talking at all really, for fear she'd piss him off without meaning to. They dumped the bags, and Riddick sorted through the stuff while she untangled the ropes. He never had the patience for knots.

"You mind the dark?" Jack heard him say, but she didn't understand the question until she turned and saw Riddick with the two bulky handlights they had brought with them already set aside.

"It's fine." She said noncommittally. She wasn't finished, but Riddick got up from behind her and, as he passed her on his way towards the front of the cave, casually waved a pair of silver meal packets invitingly. They settled cross-legged near the entrance, Riddick with his back to the fading sunlight so he could remove his goggles.

"You alright?" Jack looked up, surprised, but Riddick's head was unfailingly down as he ate.

"I'm… fine." The silence dragged on for a second.

"You haven't talked for awhile." Jack didn't know what to make of it, was it an invitation or statement of relief?

"I'm fine." He nodded without looking at her.

With her repeated meaningless answers to his attempts at conversation, a disproportionate amount of annoyance welled in his head and his hands. He had found a place to live, it was perfect, and he would have been in a great mood but for this. Her bouts of incessant one-sided talking at him wore at Riddick's patience in one way, but this passive apathy pissed him off far more. But there was no opportunity to vent it at her; it wasn't like she was actually _doing_ anything he could shout at her for.

When they had finished eating only the barest amount of light remained outside. Jack could hear more than see Riddick shake the sand out of their beautiful pelts and lay them down way in the back of the cave. It was 'grosser' in the back, and he knew she would have continued working without his interference, but Riddick didn't want to turn on lights and have to put his goggles back on. That and he was sick of her expressionless face in his peripheral vision all day. He knew the kid couldn't actually see him from where she was, still standing next to the semi-sorted pile of supplies. So he openly looked her up and down, taking stock, before letting the girl know he was done.

"C'mon," He rumbled. "Sleep." She walked so daintily blind, and he had to take one of her hands and lead it down to touch where she needed to be. He didn't join her. He was too angry for sleep. Unwilling to keep the girl awake with his noise, though, Riddick left the cave. He needed to expend some energy before he would be able to sleep.

-

Jack had seen Riddick leave, and an irrational fear settled in her. It was a stupid idea, it defied all logic, but she couldn't help but remember that last time Riddick had left her alone in a desert cave in the dark, he had left her there to die. He had abandoned all of them, wet and cold and helpless, to wait for the creatures to tear their way into them or to starve in the dark. And it really would have happened but for Fry.

There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide, so Jack just shivered on the spot and made herself small, tucking her head between the furs as much for the sake of hiding as the night's cold. It was a stupid idea, he would never. _(But Fry isn't here now)_, her mind insisted.

She didn't know how long it had been, maybe she had dosed, could be near dawn or only a half hour passed. She heard sounds outside. Sounded like hooves on rock. She poked her head out, but couldn't smell anything but cold air. It was getting closer now; she could hear the snuffling, snorting breath of something big. A single tear leaked out of each eye and tracked, first hot then quickly cold, across her face to her temple. Not the first or last time, it occurred to her to wonder if she had made a poor choice in choosing her role-model. She wondered if he would save her this time.

Suddenly she heard quick movement. The thing bellowed, and Riddick yelled. Without thinking Jack stood up and ran a couple steps towards the sound of the fight, but as quick as it had begun the commotion ended. For a second everything was quiet except for her breathing and the breath of one creature outside. Then he laughed, a loud, full-out belly laugh, and she knew the danger was over.

The kid hadn't noticed but Riddick saw the hoof prints in the sand of their new home. So when he left the girl sleeping, after a quick look around the immediate area, he staged a stakeout. He lay out on the slope over the mouth of the cave, a knife in each hand, and waited. He didn't worry about his scent; it would smell the girl no matter what he did. It had to have smelled them, but it came anyway. Riddick saw it approach, a lone bull trison. Not as large as its Original Earth ancestors, it was better suited for the mountains and its big, 'S'-shaped horns were equally capable of killing with the point or snapping bones with a blow by the thick base.

He attacked from above, aiming for a quick stab in the eye. Its reaction time was wickedly fast, however, and he only managed to gash its face. He landed on the thing's body, although contrary to plan it was still very much alive and kicking. He stabbed down with his other hand just inside the second he knew it would take before he was thrown off and gored, and as the beast bucked its head the blade again glanced off its thick skull and instead slipped between the top two vertebrae, and it dropped instantly.

As he got off the beast's carcass, Riddick felt probably the highest post-kill rush of his life. It had been a long time since he'd had a good thrill, and however brief, the battle with the animal had all of the excitement and none of the moral scruples of killing a human or a predator. The kill had been sloppy as hell, but considering the size and speed of the animal he was pretty damn proud. Mighty Riddick the bull-killer! He couldn't help but laugh.

He heard the girl stumbling towards the mouth of the cave, and stood still a moment while she came. He was still charged with primal energy, and the somehow iconic image of standing over his prize in front of his cave was too perfect. She had wrapped one of their pelts over her shoulders for warmth, an idea that looked very appealing after his stakeout with only his jacket for protection. By the starlight alone he doubted she could see more than his outline and his eyes, but a cocky, easy smile still rose as he explained his noise, resisting the urge to throw a knife into the dirt between her feet just for the fun of it.

"Richard Riddick: escaped convict, _matador_." And he laughed again.

- -

_I know it's been absolutely forever, and I'm sorry. I have no excuse, I just sort of forgot about writing for awhile. But I'm back on the case, and I swear I'm actually going to finish this story. Anyway, please review! As always, honesty is appreciated, good, bad, or indifferent I would love to hear it._

_-J_


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